Seeing Red
by Hawkeye116
Summary: /Spoilers for TSR/ She’d never thought about killing someone before. She was mature, yes, and she knew the nature of war, yes of course, but being a killer even during war was something she never, never would manage. And yet poetic justice tempts...


A/N: Don't ask...? I dunno. This story's a bit crazy and possibly OOC. Written spur of the moment upon seeing the trailer for The Southern Raiders. Possibly (and probably) AU.

Consider yourself duly warned.

* * *

Seeing Red

* * *

She'd never thought about killing someone before.

She was mature, yes, and she knew the nature of war, _yes of course_, but being a killer even during war was something she never, never would manage. She'd never bring herself to go through with it.

She had still been naïve, after all this time of fighting and training and knowing the inevitable would come, when she'd have to help Aang finish off the Fire Lord.

She'd only threatened death to one person, that person who had _betrayed_ her—but she hadn't meant to carry through with it, not even then, because he was essential to Aang's survival and Aang was the world's future.

But now. There was something so temptingly satiating about retributive justice, something so poetically justified about revenge, that she knew something had cracked within her. She wasn't _held back_. She had finally reached freedom, and it was blood on a man's lips and her fingers around his throat. She felt almost _giddy_, childlike, even, because this was so very, very refreshing after all those years of suffering, of growing up fast and being the mother she hardly remembered.

She hissed as he choked up blood on her sleeve, his veins pulsating wildly and straining so that they were visible, almost ready to burst. With a lick of her lips (they were so dry, so very salty), Katara closed her hand tightly around the man's throat, gathering all the blood in that one spot in his throat so he drowned. He drowned in the overbearing power of her, drowned in the element he had dared defile, drowned in the blood that served as payment for blood previously stolen.

She considered her options and decided that suffocation was too merciful. She mused that, by unclenching her grip in a quick motion, she would send the blood centered in his throat in all directions—the movement would be so fast, it would pierce through his skin and tear him to shreds.

A foreign voice cackled at its absolute control, and it was only when Zuko called out her name that she realized it was her voice, her laughter.

Enough thinking, though. This man had to die.

"Katara, stop—"

But it was too late, _so very late_, and he had betrayed her again—he had let her spirit die.

She'd see with red eyes for the rest of her life.

* * *

The second time she killed wasn't as nearly as gratifying as the first, but she got the job done. It sickened her a little, but it was all right because the killing was justified and the target was _the enemy_, he was bad and she was good.

She was good, and the red she saw was good. The blood of that target—once a man, then a monster, now a dead corpse—was black, not red like hers, and he was _bad_, and she was good.

He died. He was bad.

That's really all that mattered.

* * *

As she grew older, her missions grew more and more secretive, more classified. She took out higher-ups in resistance groups, assassins hired by other enemies, men who had publicly announced their hatred of the royal families and the Avatar. She grew skilled, and her killings more eloquent. Most now were far less messy than her first.

She still saw the world through red eyes, but her red eyes were good and anyone else who had red eyes was bad—only she was justified, only _she _could kill, because she was good, the embodiment of poetic justice.

She was the justice for those criminals who the government couldn't touch, who the Avatar couldn't rehabilitate.

She was a purifier, cleansing the world. She was taking care of what the Avatar couldn't.

The only _real_ peacemaker was she.

* * *

Her last mission was confusing at first, but it was the truth—her target was bad, and she was good. That's all she needed to know.

Her mission: Eliminate the target. Don't get caught.

Her target: the Fire Lord.

Her client: a judge, someone who knew good and bad (she wasn't sure who).

She crept into the palace, telling herself that he had gold eyes, and gold eyes were bad because _look at what gold eyes have done to the world!_

A moment of silence passed, shadows fleeing on the walls.

…_look at what gold eyes have done to you…_

That's right, he had betrayed her, he had let her spirit _die._

* * *

When she struck (he'd been waiting for her), he began to see red as he fought her off.

The fool, the fool, the poor fool he had failed to save—he saw red because she saw black and white.

He was merciful, and let her see the light.


End file.
